


Hamlet! the Genetic Opera

by Burnt_Wine



Category: Hamlet - Shakespeare, Repo! The Genetic Opera (2008)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Like really slow, M/M, Repo! the Genetic Opera AU, Slow Burn, horatio and hamlet are going to be pretty platonic for a good amount of this, you don't have to watch the movie to understand
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-28 11:32:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13903131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Burnt_Wine/pseuds/Burnt_Wine
Summary: Hamlet, son of the late owner of GeneCo (the King, if you will), needs to kill his uncle in order to release the tight chains preventing his father from passing on to heaven. With this heavy duty resting upon his shoulders, his best friend, his soulmate, Horatio is the only one that he can lean on, but is he the only one that can prevent Hamlet from sinking in his sins?A.K.A. Hamlet rewritten into the world of Repo! the Genetic Opera (with more than just implied gay this time; and with puns, because this is Hamlet, and I'm not a heathen).





	1. Act 1, Scene 1

It was a slow night, certainly not one a lonely guard would anticipate during such a graverobber-heavy time. But here he was, rigidly standing against a mausoleum, embarrassment settling in his stomach when he mistook the an ingenuous breeze for a mysterious crook. He snapped to attention, however, when he noticed the crunching footsteps approaching him.

“Who’s there?” it demanded. If it was a graverobber, they were either extremely ballsy or just plain stupid.

Francisco furrowed his eyebrows, firmly fired, “Who are you? Reveal yourself.” His eyes were squinted. The fog was thick tonight. 

“Under orders of GeneCo any graverobbers will be shot on site!” That certainly wasn’t the type of phrase a graverobber would shout, but this wasn’t Francisco’s first day; no amount of lame trickery would get past him.

A figure emerged from the haze, a figure dressed much like Francisco with his armor and weaponry. He nodded in greeting, face lighting up in recognition. “Barnardo.” He raised a friendly hand. 

Said guard nodded his head, responding gruffly, “I am he.”

“You sure did sneak up on me,” Francisco stated with slight jest. 

Barnardo apparently did not share his humor. “It’s midnight. Go to bed, Francisco.” He quickly assumed Francisco’s position, shooing the previous guard off with a rigid stare. 

The tension in Francisco’s shoulders melted, gun slung lazily. “That’s a relief. Haven’t been feeling the best lately. I think there’s something going around.” He then grinned. “This cold doesn’t help either, eh?”

Barnardo simply nodded his head. “Slow night?”

“Not a mouse.”

Another nod. “Goodnight. If you run into Horatio and Marcellus, tell them to get their asses over here.”

Francisco gave a playful salute. “Will do―who’s there?” He threw his gun back into attention.

A curly-haired blonde appeared, all smiles and hands raised in surrender. “Friends, I promise.”

“And your coworkers.” Another guard followed at his heels.

“It’s a fine night to be lurking in a graveyard apparently.” his posture slumped ones more to a relaxed state. 

The other guard, Marcellus, shot Francisco a strange stare. “Isn’t your shift over?”

Francisco grinned. “Why, yes, my fair Barnardo here has taken my place during my graveyard shift, and I am sorely missing my bed, so without further ado, I take my leave.” He offered a frivolous bow before turning on his heel and exiting the graveyard. 

After exchanging a curt greeting, Barnard’s focus narrowed on the blonde. “Are you really here?”

“Aye, but only physically.” Horatio offered a wink. “I’m not quite sure I’m all the way here today.”

“Well then, welcome home, Horatio. And you, Marcellus. I am glad you’re here.”

Horatio knitted his brows, looking around and rubbing his arms as if a chill had just run past him. “What?” he whispered, voice suddenly hoarse. “Has it happened again? Has―has it shown up again?” He couldn’t help the sly grin that peeked onto his face.

“I haven’t seen anything.”

“Horatio says we’re out of his mind,” Marcellus interjected. “That seeing it twice means nothing, so I brought the skeptic out here to witness it himself.” He glared at the blonde. “Then, perhaps, the whole of Elsinore won’t think us insane.”

Horatio rolled his eyes, waving his hands about and scoffing. “Nothing’s going to show.”

Barnardo gestured to the spot beside him. “Stay for a while, and you might.” He cracked a smile. “And if not, ghost stories hardly get old.”

“Fine.” Horatio sighed, resting on a stone bench. It wasn’t like he was on-duty. “Serenade me again.”

With a nod, he began his worn tale, “Last night, Marcellus and me were standing guard here. ‘Twas one, at least, that’s what my alarm was telling me―”

Fortunately for Horatio, Marcellus broke Barnardo’s account. “Look!” He was pointing into the fog, quivering slightly. “Speak of the devil!”

“It’s the King―the ghost of the fallen owner of GeneCo.”

Marcellus nudged Horatio, who continued to stare at disbelief at the ghastly figure. “You speak to it. You’re a scholar, are you not?”

Horatio’s mouth grew dry, tongue heavy, but light enough to scornfully barking, “And what difference would that make?”

It stood there, glaring at him in his regal glory, hallow cheeks, sunken in eyes, pressed suit ready for battle―the King. Then, it drifted away, threatening to leave.

“You’ve offended it―”

“―It’s leaving.”

“No!” Horatio jolted up, leaping after the wisp. “Stay! Speak! Please, I beg, speak!”

But his efforts to too little too late, the ghoulish King bidding its farewell as quickly as it appeared. 

“It’s gone.”

Horatio shot a glare―a glare that clearly said, “Really? Thank you for that astute observation, Captain Obvious.”

“Oh, look at you!” Barnardo almost gleefully jabbed. “Shaking like a drenched puppy! Still think us crazy?”

Although it wounded his pride, Horatio shook his head. His voice was still shook as he spoke, “Dear God, I believe you―” His voice dropped to a broken whisper. “―I saw it―I saw it.”

“And it was the King, was it not?”

Horatio nodded his head. “Dressed in the very suit he conquered the epidemic, rising out of the disease and rot and creating the world as we know it today.”

“And this has happened twice―now, three times.”

A sense of dread settled into the pit of Horatio’s stomach. “And if he truly is here, something―something must be wrong.”

As Horatio sat there, a chill ran up his spine. “Wait, there it is! Again!” He stood, with open arms. “Please, if you can, speak.”

A raven crows, making Horatio jump. 

“Please, stay and speak.”

The ghost, however, dwindled away without a care. 

Once again, one of the guards utters the obvious, “It’s gone.”

“It almost spoke,” Barnard said, “but then the raven squealed.”

“No use squabbling over what has passed.” Horatio stood, demeanor gloomy. “We should tell Hamlet what has happened tonight.” 

Marcellus nodded his head in acquiesce. “I know where he’ll be in the morning. We’ll tell him then.”


	2. Act 1, Scene 2

He was not unfamiliar to the public, especially as of late. And the city of Elsinore would have to bare his presence for quite a long time; after all, he was the new owner of GeneCo.

Claudius had more of a solem composure than his last appearance, dressed in a fine suit and beard groomed. “I am aware the death of our dear Hamlet is still fresh, and although his passing has filled our hearts with grief. But, in this war-like time, we must not let this sorrow overrun our lives. 

“I know that many of you anticipated my nephew, young Hamlet, to take over the company, but in light of the recent plague of graverobbers corrupting the city, the late wife of the King, now my wife, suggested that I stand in while this issue is still at a high.”

He then flashed a smile. 

“But do not fret, Hamlet still remains the heir to the GeneCo throne, but until then, we thank you for permitting us this honor to provide all of you with the surgical services you desire.”

“Cut!”

Claudius shook off the stiffness he held in front of the camera, stretching out his face awkwardly. As Gertrude, his new wife, praised his delivery of the news, a series of knocks boomed on his door. “Come in.”

In walked Laertes, respectfully approaching the other side of the desk. 

“What do you want, Laertes?”

Laertes bowed. “Sir, I ask for you permission to continue my studies; I admit I put them on hold only to see you succeed the company, and I must return to my schooling.”

Claudius pursed his lips, nodding his head. “And what did your father say?”

Laertes swallowed. “After talking with him, yes, I was able to persuade him.”

“Then you have my permission.”

Hamlet watched the scene unfold through the cracked door. He nearly scoffed when he had seen it left open. Hamlet was not aware that it was a barn that Laertes originated from. 

“Now, Hamlet,” Claudius projected his voice, apparently aware of Hamlet’s presence, “my dear son―”

“As if,” Hamlet muttered under his breath.

“―how are you feeling? Those clouds still hanging o’er you?”

Hamlet entered the room with a slight flourish, not even bothering bowing in respect. “No, sir, for I am in the sun.” And apparently “son” in your eyes, he snickered. 

Claudius either ignored or overlooked the less than genuine tone Hamlet had been sporting, for there was no comment following it. 

His mother smiled gently, pressing a gentle touch to Hamlet’s shoulder. “That’s good, dear. Perhaps you should change. Wear something a bit brighter. Black is for the mourning, dear, and now is the time to move on; everyone dies.”

Hamlet bit his cheek, forcing a smile on his lips. He could have sworn he felt his eye twitching. “Aye, it is quite common.”

“Then why do you still seem so gloomy? Where is my sun?”

Hamlet drew in a deep breath, trying to contain himself. It was for naught, because he found himself opening his mouth and scoffing, “Seem? I do not seem upset; I am upset, mother. Others may cloak themselves in ink for years after death, but I―I am only reflecting the suits of woe trapped within me.”

Claudius smiled, but Hamlet could see a coldness in his eyes. “You are sweet, Hamlet―performing a truly commendable duty towards your father―but the time to mourn has passed. It’s wrong, unnatural to carry on like this, you know.” He paused for a moment. “And on your request to continue your education―”

Hamlet lit up.

“―I am sorry to decline it. It is best if you stay here, at the company.”

Hamlet’s fleeting moment of hope was crushed, utter anguish returning to his being. 

Sensing her son’s dropping mood, Gertrude squeezed his shoulder. “Please, my son, don’t go.”

Hamlet let out a defeated sigh, looking up into his mother’s eyes. “I’ll do my best, ma’am.”

“And that’s all we expect, dear Hamlet!” Claudius added with a toothy grin. “I say we host a celebration―with drinks and toasts and all the party favors!”

Hamlet numbly nodded his head before taking his leave. He couldn’t stand to be around them any longer, and when he reached his quarters, he collapsed on a sofa, throwing his head back as if he were about to scream. And he wanted to. He wanted to shout to the heavens, to curse God for the sheer unfairness of all this. He just―he just felt so meaningless, so helpless. This world was just filled with weeds, with vermin, with sin, with disease. 

His father had only been two months dead―two! And yet, his mother, once wed to a divine god, didn’t even bat her eyes before she moves on to an utter goat of a man, his uncle of all satyrs. He was dead a month before they were wed―a month! A purely adulterated month!

And despite the complete rage and disgust he felt, Hamlet knew he better hold his tongue. 

There was a knock at his door. Letting out a sigh and hoisting himself up, Hamlet opened the door. The sight of blonde curls alone lit Hamlet’s humor, the once gloomy male capturing his dear friend into an excited hug. 

Horatio awkwardly returned it, patting Hamlet’s back. “It’s good to see you too, sir.”

Hamlet stepped back from the embrace, but did not release Horatio from his hold, hands still firmly grasping Horatio’s arms. “I am glad to see you well. I almost didn’t recognise you, it had been so long―Horatio!”

“The same as ever, sir―at your service.” He offered a playful bow once Hamlet let him go. 

“Sir.” Hamlet blew a raspberry. “Drop the formalities, my good friend.” He ushered his Horatio inside, the guards following after. Hamlet led them to his sitting area, urging his friend to sit beside him. “So, what are you doing here? What about school?”

Horatio offered a sympathetic smile. “I came for the funeral, sir.”

Hamlet rolled his eyes. “Don’t play with me, Horatio. I know you came for my mother’s wedding.” 

“That may be why others came, sir, but not me.”

Hamlet sighed, talk of the marriage (even if it were he that brought it up) heavying his heart. “I swear,” he exasperatedly spoke, face contorted in utter despair, “you could have used the same food as the funeral for the wedding, it was so quick!”

“Sir?” Horatio interrupted.

An inquisitive hum left Hamlet’s lips.

“I think I saw your father last night.”

Hamlet tensed, eyebrows tightly knit. “Saw―who?”

“Sir, the King your father.”

Confusion remained on Hamlet’s face. “King―my father―really?”

“Calm down, sir.” Horatio offered a hand to the shoulder, a small act of comfort. He then gestured to the guards with his other hand. “I brought these men to tell you what they’ve seen.” He smiled. “I thought a personal account would be best.”

Hamlet closed his hanging jaw, licked his lips, and then spoke, “Please―for the love of God―tell me.”

The guards ran through the event, describing it to Hamlet quite vividly, who sat at the edge of his seat, attentively listening. Once they were done, Hamlet remained silent for a moment, contemplating with a firm look on his face. “Dressed in his suit, you say?” he mused. 

“Aye.”

“The one he usually wears―with the hat and glasses? So you couldn’t see his face properly?”

“Oh no, he didn’t have those.”

“So you could see his face? His expression, perhaps?” Dear goodness, it was like pulling teeth getting information. 

It was Horatio who answered this time. “He seemed upset―sorrowful though.” He then hummed. “A tad bit of anger though, very pale anger.”

“And he just stared at you?”

Horatio nodded his head. “The entire time.”

Hamlet sighed, running a hand through his hair and slumping back in his seat. “Had I been there,” he whispered. 

“I’m sure it would have amazed you.”

Hamlet nodded his head numbly. “That it would―that it would.” He sat back up, focusing on the guards. “You have the graveyard shift tonight, correct?” They nodded their heads in affirmation. “That settles it―I shall visit you sometime between 11 and 12, and whether he be a demon, angel, ghost, I will speak with it.”

The guards nodded their head. “It would be our honor.” And with that, the visitors stood and left the room, Hamlet shot a smile and a wave at Horatio as he departed. 

Once they were long gone, Hamlet flopped on his back, peering straight at the heavens. His father, as a ghost? Something surely must be wrong if he’s visiting from the other side.

**Author's Note:**

> I would LOVE to know how you feel about this fic, so please, leave a comment!
> 
> P.S. I did not write Hamlet. I am not Shakespeare. I do not own his work, and I'm not even sure if I really know it; I'm just using what I learned in AP Lit.


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